


A Thousand Shards of Light

by Linay1



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Other, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linay1/pseuds/Linay1
Summary: Plans for a new and terrifying weapon have been stolen, and there is only one person who might know where they are: the daughter of the late Galen Erso, famed Imperial scientist and engineer, who sent his child away to hide amongst the ranks of a radical rebel cell.Cassian Andor, one of the Rebellion's best Intelligence operatives, is tasked to find Jyn Erso before the the Empire does - and to make sure the plans don't fall into Imperial hands, no matter what the cost.Or...what if the Death Star hadn't been built yet, and Jyn was Cassian's target?





	1. Luminescence

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love Star Wars but I'm not an expert on specific terms, so please forgive any misspellings or errors. 
> 
> I thought the ending of Rogue One was beautifully tragic...but I also wanted so many other futures for this wonderfully wounded pair of people - and so fanfics soothe me. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Luminescence**

 

_There is something wrong with the water in her father’s laboratory._

_Jyn is five years old, wiry and short for her age._

_She is sitting on a lab stool, toes barely skimming the floor as her ankles swing back and forth. Her father dims the lights, and Jyn leans closer, her eyes trained on a beaker. An ethereal snake of eerie green light swirls through the water, casting a gentle glow on her face._

_“How is this different from other lights?” Jyn asks, touching the cool glass with a fingertip._

_Her father kneels, and the artificial light casts moving patterns on his face. He presses his cheek to her bird nest hair, his words a breath against her cheek._

_“It is cold.”_

Cassian knows what he needs to do even before Tivik’s body hits the ground. He quickly holsters his blaster and steps away from the corpse of his Partisan informant without a second glance. Counting down the seconds until the storm troopers round the corner, he scales the wall with grit teeth and hoists himself up onto the corrugated steel roof. He hears the sounds of boots in the dead end corner just as he starts to race across the rooftops.

Tivik’s news has confirmed his intelligence reports. The Empire has started to build a weapon, a new and unparalleled weapon.

He leaps across the gap between roofs, not pausing for a heartbeat.

_A planet-destroyer._

He twists mid-jump, catching the edge of a tin roof with his fingertips. He drops to a rusty balcony below. Twisting again, he grabs the rails and climbs down, dropping silently to the grimy street below. Casting a quick look over his shoulder, he tugs the collar of his black jacket closed.

Tivik has revealed that construction of the Death Star had just begun when the plans had been stolen from the Imperial engineers. The copies had been destroyed. And only one person might be convinced to help recover the originals.

Cassian jostles his way through the crowded alleys just as a local would, one hand tightly gripping the leather strap of his satchel. He moves with purposeful steps, slowly weaving his way toward his stashed ship.

General Draven will want to be updated, but he has already calculated his next move. He will be headed to Onderon soon, to make contact with the Partisans.

Cassian Andor knows just whom he needs to find.

 

 

Jyn sits with her back against the transport’s inside wall, her shackled wrists resting on her thighs. Her face is still, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. But only a fool would think she is asleep. Jyn’s senses are attuned to every movement around her. She catalogues every dip and sway of the uneven terrain, counts the clinks of each link in the chains that tether her to her bench, and measures how far each patrolling guard is by the thud of their boots.

Then, an anomaly.

Jyn’s eyes snap open, her whole body instantly tense.

A dull clicking sound. Like an antiquated clock. Or a timer. Or a…

She throws herself to the side, curling in on herself, just as the detonator goes off in a series of short, sharp bursts. The transport rocks violently as the back door crashes inward. The guards hardly have time to shout before blaster-fire cuts them down, and three camouflaged rebels surge into the prisoner car. Ignoring the shouts and pleas of the other inmates, one of the rebels thunders right up to her and grabs her manacled wrists, wrenching them upward and quickly disabling them.

Jyn does not even wait for the cuffs to hit the floor. With a bellowing cry, she swipes the open metal cuffs into the side of her rescuer’s head. Leaping over him as he tumbles to the floor, she grabs a discarded rifle and swings it at the next rebel. She knocks the third into the wall with a vicious downward strike and then takes off, sprinting to the exit.

She leaps from the back of the transport – just in time to be knocked flat on her back by a dark metal hand.

“Congratulations on being rescued,” the droid says, looking down as she rolls in pain.

Jyn swears under her breath and scrambles to her feet. She tenses to make another run for it when a hand grabs her upper arm and yanks her back.

“Not this time,” a man says in heavily accented Basic, “You’re coming with us.”

“Some rescue,” she snarls, pulling from his grip.

She twists violently, her free forearm aimed at the man’s throat. He blocks her strike and catches her wrist, spinning her so that he has her in a chokehold. With a grunt, she stomps on his foot and pivots out from under his grip. Cursing, Jyn tries to take another swing, only to have him catch both her wrists in his gloved hands. He drags her forward so that she lurches toward him. He turns his hips as his leg shoots out behind hers, pushing her over roughly. She trips backwards and lands hard on her back, the man pinning her down with her wrists above her head and his knee on her chest.

“What the kark?” One of the other rebels exclaims, jumping down from the back of transport car.

“Moro?” Jyn turns her head at the familiar voice.

“Stars above, Jyn,” the Partisan complains, rubbing his bruising cheek, “You still pack a mighty punch.”

“What the kriff are you doing?” Jyn demands, still trying to wrest herself out from under her captor’s grip.

“Trying to bust you out, obviously. Thanks for the hit to the face, by the way.”

“Well, you could’ve said something,” Jyn pants, trying to knee the man above her, “Or uncovered your faces. How was I supposed to know?”

A dry chuckle answers her, and she hears the clunk of his boots as he walks over.

“See you’ve met the new guys,” Moro grunts, his boots filling her field of vision. “You still gonna try to run?”

“Should I?”

Moro rolls his eyes and turns away, tapping the man’s shoulder with the butt of his rifle as he does. The man instantly lets up, rising in one fluid motion as Jyn sits up.

“What a gentleman,” she growls.

She glares up at the man, who is staring back down at her dispassionately. He is tall, bordering on lanky. His trousers are tucked into scuffed combat boots, and he wears a heavy, hooded parka. His thin lips are framed by a moustache and a few days’ worth of stubble, and his dark eyes are partially obscured by messy locks of even darker hair. His gaze is cold, calculating and far too invasive for her liking. Jyn blinks and then leans back on her palms.

“You like staring, laserbrain?” She asks, offering him a sneer.

He raises one eyebrow, before turning to collect his gear.

“C’mon Jyn,” Moro says as they start to march away.

She follows the small team of insurgents as they trek across Wobani’s barren landscape, trying to rub warmth into her arms as unobtrusively as possible. Thankfully the hike is short, and they are soon piling into a rust bucket of a shuttle. Jyn folds her arms and carefully studies her current crew. The tall man slides easily into the pilot’s seat, his droid taking the co-pilot’s place. Her eyes narrow as she watches them punch in coordinates and prep for take off. Another Partisan she barely knows disappears into a cargo hold.

“You gonna stay in your prisoner greys forever?”

Jyn looks up as Moro tosses her a battered pack. He shuffles away to a corner, turning to busy himself with storing the weapons. She tears open the canvas duffel to find some of her old clothes. She almost smiles as she pulls out a pair of dark pants, a blue tunic and a brown tactical vest. She turns to shuck her prisoner coveralls, shivering a bit at the sudden chill. She hurriedly pulls on her old clothes and then bends to rifle through the pack.

“Boots?” She calls out.

“Back at base,” Moro answers with a shrug. “Get some when we get there.”

Jyn sighs and sinks onto the metal floor, crossing her legs. Her eyes wander back to the pilot.

“Who’s that?” She asks, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the engines as they fire up.

“Oh him?” Moro answers, as he drops onto the bench opposite her. “Some pilot we picked up on Onderon. Been doing jobs for us here and there.”

“And the droid?”

“A re-programmed unit. He calls it K-2,” Moro says with a shrug. He scratches his chin. “I hear he’s a good shot with a sniper rifle too.”

“The droid?” Jyn fires back incredulously.

“Oh,” Moro corrects himself, “The pilot. Cassian.”

If Cassian overhears their conversation – and she suspects he has by the tightening of his shoulders, he makes no comment. Jyn studies his profile for a moment.

“A bit old for recruitment,” Jyn mutters, “Isn’t he?”

“Not all of us were children when we joined the cause,” Moro comments drily.

Jyn pulls a small vibroblade from one of the vest’s pockets, casually inspecting its edge. Her next question is deceptively light.

“And just why did you decide to finally break me out of Wobani?” She asks, her voice low.

“Why else?” Moro says simply. “Saw wanted it.”

Jyn’s eyes close, her jaw tightening.

 _Saw Gerrera_.

Her grip tightens on the blade’s handle.

_Saviour. Father. Trainer. Tyrant._

She swallows and breathes through her nose, willing her heart to still.

 

 

Jyn Erso was not what Cassian had expected, though he’s not sure why he had had any expectations at all in first place.

The flight back to Jedha is silent except for the hum of the engines and the occasional clank of metal. K2 is watching the flight panel, and Cassian has taken up a spot on the floor behind the pilot’s seat, back to the wall and forearms resting casually over his bent knees. He assumes the other two Partisans are napping, if their light snoring is any indication. He resists the urge to frown at them; since infiltrating their rebel cell, he’s found that many of Saw’s followers lack the necessary discipline for covert operations. But Jyn…

Jyn is wide-awake.

He observes her from the corner of his eye. She is also leaning against shuttle’s wall, her knees drawn up. Her head is tilted back, her large eyes tracing lazy patterns in the ceiling. She looks unbearably young, nearly baby-faced – except for the fact that she is spinning a blade between her fingers with a fluidity that speaks of years of practice. Her knuckles are bruised and scabbing, as if she has been in more than a few brawls recently.

Cassian isn’t sure what he thought he would find in Galen Erso’s only child, but it certainly isn’t this scrappy, spitting, tiny ball of fury. It took so much mental maneuvering to get into Saw Gerrera’s good graces, even more to pave the way for Saw to decide to rescue his surrogate daughter and once-protégée. The Rebel Alliance _needs_ Jyn to help. He needs to _make_ her help. Unfortunately for him, she doesn’t seem the type to cooperate. He nearly sighs.

“Hey scruff-face,” Jyn says, her narrowed eyes snapping to his, “Am I that interesting to look at?”

Cassian gives a half-hearted one-shouldered shrug and glances away. His features are relaxed, but his thoughts are racing. She’s noticed his gaze without even looking at him. Either he is slipping in his fatigue…or she is much, much better than he thought.

He hears her feet padding toward him but refuses to flinch as she stands over him, glaring.

“Listen up, _Cassian_ ,” she slurs his name.

He looks up. In her anger, her face is sharper, older and infinitely more dangerous. He lifts a brow in silent challenge, aware that she is still twirling the vibroblade between her fingers.

“What?”

Her lips thin at his dismissive tone. With a snap of her wrist, the vibroblade embeds itself to the hilt just a hairsbreadth away from his boot. He doesn’t bother to look down, forcing down the instinct to grab the handle.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.”

Her voice is pitched low, words edged like broken glass. She stands with her feet planted wide and with her hands on her hips.

“And how’s that?” He asks, pulling out each word slowly, tauntingly.

“Like you think you know me,” she bites back, her brows drawing in as she snarls.

He thinks maybe he should let it go; maybe he shouldn’t antagonize her. A small part of his mind screams that he should try harder to get on her good side. _But she doesn’t seem to have a good side_. So he gives in and lets his interrogation mask slip onto his face; it curves his lips into a slight, smug smirk. His eyes go hard, flinty.

“But don’t I?” He bares his teeth. “Jyn Erso?”

Her nostrils flare at the sound of her name, as if it’s a particularly horrible insult that she hasn’t heard for a while. She steps back, and he knows he’s won this round. Though it’s a good thing she’s already thrown her knife – he knows that it would have ended up in his thigh instead of in the floor otherwise.

“Shut up,” she hisses.

Jyn spins around and strides back to her corner. Cassian watches her go and contemplates his next move. A dry chuckle comes from the back of the hold, and Cassian turns to see Moro clambering to his feet. Their ship is about to drop out of hyperspace near Jedha.

“She likes you,” he huffs.

Cassian lifts a brow.

“Believe me,” Moro snorts. “If she didn’t, you’d be in a lot worse shape.”


	2. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn meets Bodhi. Cassian meets Saw. All is not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a bit shorter than I intended, and it's taking longer to get to the good stuff. But we're on the way there.
> 
> I'm writing in between reading and re-reading my favourite stories. If you want a good Cassian-Jyn fix, head over to my bookmarks. 
> 
> Also, please pardon any misspellings or fandom-errors.

**Chapter 2: Shadow**

 

_By the time she is eleven years old, Jyn knows fourteen different ways to kill a man._

_It is how Saw Gerrera demonstrates his love for her. He teaches her to be strong, how to fuel her rage into action. There is a gruff tenderness in the way that Saw treats her, a quiet intensity that he seems to reserve for her. Though fiercely loyal to him, the other Partisans are always scrambling to do Saw’s bidding, and they regard him a respect so deep that it borders on terror. But Jyn is not afraid of Saw._

_Saw was the one who found her, beckoning to her with an open palm._

_“Come child,” he’d called to her in his gravelly voice, raw and rough with hardships of his own._

_So, when his hulking silhouette darkens the threshold of the cave that she calls her room, she is not afraid. She looks up from where she is curled into herself in the corner, her eyes the only bright spots in the gloom. Saw moves closer and lays a heavy hand on her head. When she looks up at the shadows falling over his face, he almost looks sad._

_Jyn knows fourteen different ways to kill a man, but today is the first time she’s ever done it for real._

 

 

When they land outside the Partisan base of operations on Jedha, an armed escort is waiting for them. But when someone tries to take Jyn by the elbow, she snarls and shoves him back. Hard.

“I dare you to try and touch me,” she all but spits.

They wisely take a few steps back and let her lead the way into the catacombs. Just before she disappears into the ancient stone structure, Jyn throws Cassian a look over her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed in cold speculation, her lips pinched. It’s a look he’s getting used to seeing.

“Why the guards?” Cassian asks casually as he marches down the shuttle’s ramp, his heavy blaster rifle slung over one shoulder. “Isn’t she one of us?”

Moro snorts.

“She and Saw didn’t part on the best of terms,” he explains with a shrug. “And Jyn’s always been slightly…” he pauses, “volatile.”

They meander into the atrium and take up empty seats. This room reminds Cassian of home – or at least as close as he can get to home while undercover. The surroundings might be different and the group less sharply dressed than in the hangar on Yavin IV, but the atmosphere is the same. They are soldiers at rest; gambling, drinking, cleaning their weapons and telling crude jokes. But Cassian doesn’t let himself indulge in the camaraderie for more than a few forced minutes. He’s got more important things to listen to than exaggerated tales of off-world conquests.

 

Bodhi Rook is seriously questioning his friendship with Galen Erso.

He sits as far into the corner of his cell as he can and wishes he could just melt into the sandstone walls as he watches Saw Gerrera face off with a girl who is not more than a third his size. His white-knuckled grip on the edge of his bench grows even tighter as their voices grow louder, and Bodhi wonders if a true friend would have sent him to this snake pit. Or had Galen just wanted to find an ironic method of getting rid of an Imperial defector?

_No_ , Bodhi tells himself, _Galen can’t be that cruel_.

Bodhi screws his eyes shut and remembers their last conversation. Galen’s eyes had been shining with unshed tears, his hands tight on Bodhi’s shoulders. He remembers the tone of Galen’s voice more than his actual words. _Desperation. Fear._ It’s a tone he knows well, after all.

“You’re wrong,” the girl isn’t shouting, but her words are violent. “My father would _die_ before he would participate in such an atrocity.”

“It’s been over a decade.” Saw’s voice is hoarse but unbending in conviction. “How do you know?”

“I know,” she replies resolutely. “He left to save us from the Empire, not help them win. He knew the difference between peace and terror.”

Bodhi’s eyes open. His jittery knee stills. He has heard those words before.

“Your father is an Imperial engineer,” Saw begins in a low growl.

“Jyn?” Bodhi interrupts, standing suddenly, his hands gripping the cell bars, “Jyn Erso?”

They both turn to stare at him. Bodhi wilts under their combined attention.

“I’m the pilot,” he says quickly.

“Ah,” Saw says, leaning back. “The supposed defector.”

“No, I mean, yes,” Bodhi protests quickly, trying unsuccessfully to raise his voice, “I’m the pilot. Galen Erso sent me – with a message.”

“A trap,” Saw shouts, stabbing the butt of his staff into the ground, “The Empire is trying to destroy us.” He turns to the girl and adds vehemently, “You need to help us strike first.”

“You can’t just blow up whole cities!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up. “You need to cut out the cancer, not kill the person.”

“And are you a such a skilled surgeon?”

_They’re getting away from the topic_ , Bodhi thinks.

“Jyn Erso,” He pleads, “Jyn Erso, I have a message for you. It’s about the Death Star.

“What?”

Bodhi frowns. This girl speaks only in harsh tones, each word a barked command. She is so unlike her father, who is calm and careful.

“Well?” Jyn demands, taking a few quick steps closer.

“It’s a trap,” Saw repeats. “This does not change a thing.”

“Watch the holo,” Bodhi pleads. “Just watch it, and you’ll see.”

The girl spins to face Saw. “What holo?”

“It will bring you nothing but grief,” Saw says, his lips turned down and his voice unusually soft. “The days of your father’s dedication to our cause are over. He is just another Imperial lackey, now.”

Her face hardens, and her fists clench. She marches up to Bodhi’s cell.

“How did you know my father?”

“I’m the pilot,” he begins, stuttering.

“We’ve established that already,” Jyn interrupts.

“A cargo pilot,” Bodhi continues, “I brought reports to your father. He was kind to me. He told me to be brave, to do what is right. That he can’t stall anymore. That the weapon he helped plan so long ago will be built. Krennic-”

“Krennic? You’ve seen Krennic?” She cuts him off, her face suddenly inches from his.

“N-no,” Bodhi answers, “I’ve only heard his name. Seen his aides. But he wants the plans. Says Galen is committing treason by withholding them.”

Jyn withdraws, her lips a thin line and her eyes slits of speculation.

“I need to see this holo.”

The holo is only a few minutes long.

It’s Galen’s face, his brows pinched in worry, which appears in blue light. And it’s Galen’s voice, deep baritone tones urgently pleading with Saw to protect the kyber supply of Jedha, and to find and protect his daughter from Imperial influence.

When it’s done, Jyn’s face is different. Bodhi can tell in the lines that have appeared at the corners of her mouth, and the way her shoulders sag as she stares at her boots. Any doubt that she is the person he’s been sent to find is swept away.

_Jyn is…_

Bodhi remembers how Galen had looked up at the ceiling, struggling to find the words to describe his daughter. He had spoken with words coloured by equal parts exasperation and fondness.

_She is almost always angry, all grit teeth and closed fists,_ Bodhi hears Galen say. _But she’s tenderhearted too. She’s lost, you see. Just like you._

“You believe me,” Bodhi says, with more conviction than he’s ever had.

“Yes,” she agrees, her green eyes meeting his with loneliness so deep he feels an ache in his chest. “I believe you.”

“Fools,” grumbles Saw from behind. “This is a trap.”

“No,” Jyn says, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “My father would never risk sending a message otherwise. I know what this pilot – Bodhi, is it? I know what he is talking about. They called it the Death Star. It’s a planet-killer. Krennic-” She pauses, clenches her jaw. “Krennic has been trying to convince the higher-ups to fund his pet project for nearly a decade. The plans were shelved, but my father had to keep working for the Empire.” She smiles bitterly before continuing. “He took a great risk destroying the plans himself.”

“But why tell us?” Saw counters.

“Because Jyn needs to-” Bodhi begins.

And then his words stutter to a stop. He blinks.

Because the look Galen’s daughter is sending him is so sharp that it stills his tongue instantly.

“Needs to…”

His mind is whirring in circles, his thoughts fishtailing out of control. He realizes in a moment of perfect clarity that if anyone – _anyone_ – finds out what Jyn knows, it could spell disaster for the whole galaxy. In his mind, scenarios spin out of control in seconds – planets turned to dust in the name of freedom, whole civilizations razed in warfare, new powers grasping for control amid fear and destruction.

“I need to make sure that all traces of the plans are destroyed,” Jyn fills in.

“You _were_ there,” Saw says slowly, “You saw him working on the plans when you were but a child. But how could you help now?”

Jyn shrugs. “You know my father,” she says, “Always the optimist.” She jerks her chin in Bodhi’s direction. “Let him out, will you? I want to talk to him. About my father.”

 

Outside, Cassian is leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He hears the shuffle of Saw’s metal gait and then the telltale beeping of a cell door being unlocked.

More pressing, however, are the brisk steps of someone rounding the corner. It’s too late to pretend he wasn’t listening in.

“Saw hates eavesdroppers.”

Cassian turns and raises a brow at Edrio, Saw’s second in command. He lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

“Probably as much as he hates busybodies.”

With that, he pushes off from the wall and walks away.

Cassian knows how to look relaxed; it’s the trick to effective eavesdropping. He also knows how to walk with a slow swagger, even when he what he really wants to do to cut and run. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he wants to hurry. He won’t though. Not when he wants to appear as unapologetic as possible. He feels Edrio’s eyes on his back but doesn’t turn, doesn’t give the slightest impression that he cares. It’s a risky bluff – but he knows it has paid off when he hears a snort from Edrio, rather than feeling a blaster bolt in the back.

He glides into the common room, slipping easily into a seat and pretending that he hasn’t just had the biggest break in this mission so far. He pulls the pieces of the puzzle together: tidbits from Tivik, reports from Imperial double agents, and now this.

This is what Cassian knows for sure:

_The Empire wants to build a Death Star._

_The Death Star can destroy planets._

_Galen Erso destroyed the plans._

_Jyn Erso is hiding something._

Cassian mulls these facts over, turning each piece and questioning each motive. He doubts Galen Erso would have destroyed all the plans and then begged Saw for help…unless there was another set of plans somewhere. And he wouldn’t have asked Saw to protect his daughter now…unless…unless…

_Jyn Erso knows where to find another copy of the plans._

Cassian’s mind shifts gears. Galen Erso is no longer a priority. He needs to get those plans – from Jyn.

A commotion draws him from his musings, and Cassian looks up to see a Sarkan crash into the room. The reptilian humanoid is panting and he stops at the threshold of the cave, leaning heavily on the doorjamb.

“Imperial destroyers!” He announces in a panic, his sibilant voice hoarse.

The room stands as one. Questions rise in a cacophony of voices.

“Silence!” comes Saw’s bellow.

He stands at the opposite entrance of the cave, flanked by Edrio and Jyn. Cassian can just make out the shadowy form of Bodhi behind her. Saw steps into the hollowed out room, drawing himself up and focusing on the Sarkan.

“Speak, Goto,” Saw commands. “What have you seen?”

“Destroyers in atmo,” the Sarkan hisses, “Squadrons of skull heads on the ground. And a Sector Moff. They are invading the temple.”

Hushed whispers break out again.

“What are they here for?” Saw demands.

“Kyber.”

It is Bodhi’s voice, quiet and trembling just a bit, but confident all the same.

“What?” Saw spins and grabs Bodhi by the lapels of his jumpsuit, dragging him forward.

Jyn steps close, her hand on Saw’s forearm and her eyes trained on his face. Saw’s grip loosens ever so slightly, and Cassian cannot help but wonder what power such a slight girl could possibly have over him.

“K-kyber,” Bodhi repeats, cowering under Saw’s scrutiny, “It was what we were hauling. Kyber will be the power source for the Death Star. When…if they find the plans.”

Saw pushes Bodhi away and turns. His chest heaves with excitement as he marches to the centre of the room. He seems even larger somehow, blazing with righteous passion.

“We strike now!” Saw booms, raising his staff. “We will cripple them here. Edrio!” He points at his second. “Ambush the convoy in the market. Take as many men as you need.”

“The market?” It’s Jyn’s voice. Tight, angry. “It will be full of civilians right now.”

Saw faces her fully. His words are soft but unyielding.

“All the better,” he tells her, speaking as if to a child, “They will never expect us to attack there.”

Cassian watches as Jyn’s face tightens, a snarl curling her lip. She takes a step forward.

“You fight just like them,” she hisses, accusing.

“We’ll never win if we don’t.”

The men in the room shift backward, just a fraction – but a fraction too much too be by accident. This, it seems, is an old, violent argument. Jyn’s fists clench at her sides, her fingers only inches from a blaster strapped to her thigh. Saw’s eyes never leave her face. It is like they are the only two people in the room.

“Are we not still friends, child?” Saw asks her, his voice rough.

She swallows, the effort to still her fury clearly visible in the way she rolls her shoulders and closes her eyes for just a moment. For a nanosecond, all is still. And then she opens her green eyes and pins Saw with a glare.

“You were the one who abandoned me,” she says, the Coruscanti edges of her accent clipped.

“You know why,” Saw replies, almost sadly. Almost.

Jyn inhales deeply and scrubs at her eyes with the heel of one hand. Tension bleeds out of her slight frame.

“You can’t expect me to take part in this,” she says finally.

“I do,” Saw says with conviction, “But I have a different task for you.”

“And that is?”

Saw almost smiles.

“Sniper!”

Cassian blinks, and finds himself at the centre of Saw’s attention.

“Jyn will take you to the temple, and you will terminate this Sector Moff.” He glances at Jyn, a smile playing on his lips. “A surgical removal, if you will.”

Cassian’s eyes flick to Jyn. She is watching him unhappily, her mouth a tight line. Her hand is on her hip again, her chin jutting out defiantly.

_Oh,_ he thinks, _This is going to be so much fun._

“Go around the market,” Saw is saying, “Do it quickly. Go now.”

Jyn huffs and strides up to where Cassian is seated, her eyes flashing. Even standing, she is only a head taller than him while he is sitting, but she uses the slight height advantage to look down her nose at him. She looks even less pleased to be working with him on a mission as she did when she was being rescued by him.

“Well?” She demands, gesturing.

Cassian stands slowly, a slight grin tugging at his lips as she is forced to tilt her head back to keep eye contact with him. He stretches and then reaches for his heavy blaster, which he left leaning against his chair. With practiced grace, he switches the rifle to sniper configuration.

“Let’s go,” he says, swinging the rifle over his shoulder with the strap diagonal across his chest.

She graces him with one more glare before stalking out.

_Finally,_ he thinks, mentally checking off his weapons, _we’re getting somewhere._

Jyn turns for a moment at the doorway, the Jedha suns casting her face in sharp relief. She jerks her chin, calling him forward.

Cassian follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head on over to [to my Tumblr page](https://rogues-and-rebels.tumblr.com) to connect with me. Thank you for all your kudos and comments. They are extremely motivating :)


	3. Prism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always something left to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right...sorry this is late. Also, there are some allusions to re-incarnation here, but it's not going to be a big thing in future chapters.

**Chapter 3: Prism**

 

_Jyn is eight when she watches her mother die and her father taken away. Eight, and helpless._

_Her father is straining against the shiny black arms of a Death Trooper, while her mother lies dead in the grass and her family homestead burns. And then she is running, running as fast as her short legs can take her. She wants to fight, but she knows she’ll lose. So she twists her fingers around her mother’s necklace in the darkness while she hides, and waits, and imagines ways to kill Krennic._

_She thinks then that the Empire has taken everything from her._

_She is wrong. There is always something left to lose._

 

 

“I was sure that Saw said to go around the market, not _through_ it,” Cassian comments dryly.

He is following Jyn as she jostles her way through the main market streets of NiJedha. Her fingers hover over the blaster strapped to her thigh, and he hasn’t made any effort to hide the rifle strapped to his back. At first, he thinks it foolish to traipse through the Holy City with their unconcealed weapons - but then he sees that almost everyone in the crowded streets has some sort of firearm on display.

Jyn looks back at him over her shoulder. She starts to say something but then clamps her mouth shut and shrugs. She turns away to keep marching forward, and he barely catches what she says next.

“Then go the long way if you don’t like it,” she mutters.

 _As if_.

“And anyway, he probably meant on the way back.”

Her tone is dark, and she still looks angry. They pass a Partisan who is obviously carrying more than his share of explosives. When he sees Jyn, he swears in Huttese – which she answers with a rude gesture and a sneer.

“Damn idiots,” he hears her swear, “Gonna get the whole city killed.”

“What?”

“None of your business, newbie,” she says without looking back.

Cassian almost smirks. He hasn’t been a newbie at anything for a very long time.

The city is a powder keg waiting to explode. As a spy, Cassian has always been hyper sensitive to the eyes in a moving crowd, but here the weight of so many stares is oppressive.

They are almost at the very centre of the Holy Quarter when he feels a telltale prickle at the top of his spine. He turns ever so slightly and sweeps the arched doorways with his eyes. There, he thinks. He sees a man leaning _oh so_ casually against a wall, and when he catches his eye, the man raises one grimy index finger. Cassian wants to shout at him and demand who trained him so that he can retrain the trainer. The contact is barely blending in, too stiff to be mistaken for anything but a criminal or an informant. Draven must be desperate for an update. He wants to sigh, but instead he calls out to Jyn.

“I need to stop here,” he announces brusquely.

She pauses mid-step and turns to stare.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” he says, punctuating the two words with as much aggravation as he feels.

She blinks and doesn’t seem to know what to say – which he is counting on. Without giving her a chance to formulate a real question, he strides away to a cantina and feels, rather than sees, his contact peeling away from the wall to follow.

Jyn watches Cassian’s back as he walks away. She frowns. She’s just noticed the strangest thing, she thinks to herself as she waits in the middle of the street. It’s something completely irrelevant. She runs the edge of her tongue over the line of her teeth. Cassian’s tall, she observes as he bends to disappear into the shadowy doorway of a seedy cantina. And his shoulders are broad. She recalls the way he lifted his blaster with one hand; the sweep of his arm and the bunching of muscles at his bicep. His manner is more fluid, almost too confident for a common foot soldier.

“Little sister.”

She starts at the words, her thoughts evaporating. She spins on her heel, eyes wide. The words are so foreign, so unexpected – and yet, so achingly, hauntingly familiar.

A Temple Guardian, his blind eyes milky white, is sitting on a pile of rubble. And he is looking in her direction. She is walking towards him before she realizes that her feet are moving. All of a sudden she is angry, _so angry_ , and she doesn’t really understand why – except that his voice is a deceptively sweet tenor, and she doesn’t even know why she should think that he could be deceptively sweet, but she knows that voice, _knows_ it in her bones as if she’s known him all her life. Her anger sears her veins, and her hand is on her blaster before she can process it.

But just as she reaches the serenely perched Guardian, another man steps into her path. He is beyond large, his hulking frame completely obscuring her view. She wants to shove past him, even though she knows he could crack open her skull with just one punch.

“Calm, little sister,” this man rumbles.

And she knows his voice too, and she feels the heat of tears stinging the corners of her eyes. _Why, why, why?_

“Baze,” the other man stands, “Be nice to her.”

The mountain of a man takes a lumbering step back.

“I _am_ being nice,” he throws back, but he is slowly backing up all the same.

Jyn is staring at their faces, her chest tight.

“Do I know you?” She asks, her voice uncharacteristically without venom.

The blind man blinks. Then he sighs, a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m Chirrut Imwe, and this is my companion, Baze Malbus,” he pauses and tilts his head, “I see you have a kyber crystal.”

Her hand instinctively goes to her chest, and she clutches her mother’s keepsake through her shirt.

“How did you know?” The words come out more broken than she intends.

“Because they’re cheats and tricksters,” Cassian says wryly, suddenly behind her.

Baze snorts, and Chirrut smiles.

“If it isn’t the Captain,” Chirrut says smoothly, “And still so angry.”

“Captain?” Jyn turns to stare at Cassian’s profile, but his eyes are trained on the guardians.

He shrugs.

“Don’t I look like a captain to you?”

Does she imagine it or is there the slightest bit of strain around his mouth? Jyn looks back to Chirrut, who is smiling faintly. There is tenderness in his face that she doesn’t understand, and when he speaks, he sounds so old and so tired that she almost wants to wrap her arms around him. There is that ache again, she realizes, an ache that goes even deeper than her bones.

“Good luck, little sister,” says Baze, gruffly.

“You’ve struggled in so many lives,” says Chirrut gently, “Perhaps we will all get it right this time.”

And then before she can demand what they mean, Cassian is dragging her away by the arm.

“We have to go,” he hisses, his eyes scanning the streets.

And he is right, she thinks as she snaps back to reality. The sound of marching troopers is a dull drumbeat, steadily increasing in volume. She hastily pulls her ragged blue scarf around her head. A contingent of troopers rounds the corner. With just the barest of glances between them, Jyn and Cassian duck into the nearest alley. Faces grim, they silently begin to climb, grabbing onto railings and pulling onto balconies. It’s a sick parallel to his time in the Rings in Kafrene – only this time, the Partisan is scaling the building with him, not dead by his hand in the dirt. In another life, Cassian might have looked down to offer her a hand up – but he can hear her following his footholds without difficulty, her breaths even as she pulls up onto the roof a heartbeat after he does. Again, they exchange the briefest of glances before they take off running. They skim the rooftops like ghosts, stopping only when they have found a decent vantage point. They drop into an empty patio and crouch behind a low rock wall. It’s about five stories up, and they have a clear view of the Temple entrance – where an Imperial Moff is ascending the steps with a squad of Death Troopers in tow.

“Just in time,” Cassian says under his breath.

He slips the sniper rifle from his back with all the grace of a trained killer. Jyn watches, grudgingly impressed, as he eases himself into a firing position. He is lying on his stomach, propped up by his elbows with his eye at the sniper’s scope and his finger on the trigger. Jyn slides in beside him, frowns at the fact that her toes line up with his knees, and then pulls out a small pair of field binoculars.

“Too much security,” she breathes, scanning the square.

“Then we’ll have to get out of here quick.”

Jyn isn’t watching the target. She’s watching Cassian. He is nothing but sharp, military precision. He exhales, squeezes the trigger once and then, without a moment’s hesitation, jumps up to his feet and slings the rifle back over one shoulder. Behind him, the square erupts in shouting and shooting.

Cassian grabs her hand and pulls her along behind him as they crash through the patio doors and in to an empty apartment. He doesn’t let go or let up, even as she looks back to see the Moff sprawled out on the steps, his head a burned out mess of blood and bone. He half drags her through the living area and kicks open the front door. And then they’re running, still hand in hand. They fly down the stairs and crash through the back door, and he’s still got her hand as he backs into the wall and peers out of the alley.

“Let go,” she hisses.

He looks down at her, face stricken as if he is also surprised by their linked hands. He drops her hand and reaches into his coat to pull out a pistol blaster. Around them, the sounds of battle erupt. Beside him, Jyn curses in at least three different languages. She slides in front of him to get a look at the street, her chest pressed to his to be as close to the wall as possible. A stray blaster bolt scorches the sandstone wall just above her head, and Cassian pulls her back immediately. A bomb goes off a block away, and the building behind them shudders.

“Is this why Saw wanted us to go _around_?”

Jyn looks up at him. Her eyes are wide and _furious_. So furious that she doesn’t notice that she is still plastered against him, her fingers tightening involuntarily in his coat.  
“I told him this was a kriffing stupid idea,” she grits out, half to herself, “The Holy Quarter is full of civilians. So many people are going to-”

She darts away suddenly, and Cassian can only catch the edge of her scarf before she is running heedlessly through a volley of blaster shots. Cassian curses, and watches as Jyn shoots to where small child is sitting in the rubble, cheeks streaked with dirt and tears. While running at full tilt, Jyn bends, hooks the child under one arm, and tucks and rolls to evade friendly and unfriendly fire. Cassian watches as Jyn sets the child on her feet, thumbs away her tears and then shoves her into the cowering mother’s arms. A Partisan is about to throw a grenade into the street where she is huddled, and without a second thought, Cassian takes aim and shoots. The Partisan falls dead and his grenade explodes, rocking the building and sending a shower of dust onto Jyn’s head. Before Jyn decides to run _back across_ the street, Cassian takes advantage of a lull in the shooting to follow after her.

“You could have been killed,” he comments as they take off at a run.

“Well, she would have been.”

He spares a moment to glance down at her face, tight with fury and determination. He isn’t given a minute to think on it as they turn a corner and skid to a sudden stop. Part of a squad of storm troopers fill the small courtyard, and they are turning, lifting their blasters to aim. Jyn doesn’t wait. She launches forward at a dead run, truncheons out as she dives straight into a melee. With deadly precision, she knocks the guards down, throwing her entire body weight into vicious strikes that cripple if not kill. He’s left to pick off the few who are not too close.

Their last opponent hasn’t even hit the ground before they turn to run again; this isn’t a time to celebrate. But the clanking of plasti-armor is the first sign something else is about the go wrong. Another squad – this time a full squad with weapons at the ready – blocks their way. Theirs hands go up.

“Let them pass in peace.”

It is the blind temple guardian. Jyn blinks. The man is confidently striding past them, toward certain death. She reaches out to stop him, her mouth open to warn him. He can’t possibly know how many troopers are just waiting for an excuse to kill him. For some inexplicable reason, she feels like her heart will break if she has to watch him die.

But then, Chirrut swings his staff – and it’s a beautiful, deadly dance. He knocks down trooper after trooper, all with a slight smile and sarcastic jokes. And when another squad is called in, Baze annihilates them with his plasma cannon.

It happens so fast, _too_ fast.

“Come, little sister,” says Chirrut, his hand on her elbow. “Someone is looking for you.”

“Someone?”

“There isn’t time.”

And there really isn’t. When is there ever? Without much choice, Cassian and Jyn follow the guardians through the twisting back alleys of the Holy Quarter, avoiding fights when they can and attacking as a team when they must. If Baze and Chirrut are partners, then Cassian and Jyn are too. They fight back-to-back, and run side by side. It seems natural, almost familiar. Until Cassian suddenly swerves into her, shoving her over and pushing her to the ground none too gently. A swear word is on the tip of her tongue when a cannon blast hits the wall behind them – a blast that would have hit her square in the chest.

And then she notices. He hasn’t just pushed her out of the way; he has shielded her completely. He is lying atop her, his scruffy beard scratching her chin and his limbs caging hers. He blinks.

“Why…?” she breathes.

“I need you,” he answers, dragging her up to her feet.  _For the Alliance_ , he almost adds before gritting his teeth.

She puzzles over his answer as she dusts off her vest. His lips have thinned as if he wishes he could swallow the words.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

Baze coughs into his fist. Cassian and Jyn look up. Heat doesn’t flood their faces, their breathing doesn’t hitch, and they most definitely don’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. Because they are professionals, _dammit_ , and not awkward adolescents. At least, that’s what Cassian thinks hard at himself.

“In here,” Chirrut says, as a welcome distraction.

Baze pushes open a crookedly hung door, revealing a set of stairs roughly hewn from rock. They creep down the steps after Baze and Chirrut, eyes slowly adjusting the gloom. They enter a hollowed out cave of room that smells slightly like molding potatoes.

A thin, fidgety figure rises.

“Bodhi?” It’s Jyn. She sounds curious and wary at once. “Why are you here?”

“Saw sent me,” Bodhi answers, wringing his fingers. “He said you would believe me.”

Jyn purses her lips. She sets aside her questions about how Bodhi found the guardians – for now. She knows that Saw won’t and can’t travel quickly. She knows that Saw knows that she doesn’t trust the Partisans, and that she doesn’t have the stomach to put the right kinds of pressure on people to get them to speak truth. So…

“Yes,” she says. “What is the message?”

Bodhi takes a couple of faltering steps closer. He starts to twist his fingers into knots. Jyn’s anxiety grows.

“What is the message?” She repeats, her voice echoing in her own ears.

“Jyn,” Bodhi begins, stops and tries again. “Jyn Erso.”

“Yes.”

Her impatience is giving way to panic. Jyn can see the torment in Bodhi’s eyes. She feels his sorrow in the tremor in his voice.

“Speak, pilot.”

It’s Cassian’s voice in a tone that is firm and unyielding; it is the voice of someone accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. It is a sharply barked _command_.

Somewhere in the distant reaches of her mind, she thinks that might important - a piece of a puzzle she’s been working out. But she can’t think about Cassian now, not when Bodhi’s wringing his hands and looking everywhere but at her.

“You must tell her now.” That is Chirrut, gentle and coaxing.

“There’s no time.” And Baze, gruffly complaining.

“The _message_.” Finally, it’s Cassian, full of authority.

“Your father,” Bodhi says, each word torture. “Your father was executed for treason.”

Her face turns to steel.

“Jyn,” Bodhi is saying, “I’m so sorry. Director Krennic said…he said the plans were destroyed on purpose. It was a firing squad. They-”

She doesn’t hear the rest, the words blurring into incomprehensibility. It’s like a grenade has gone off in the room; all she hears is ringing even though she’s sure Baze is walking toward her when Chirrut stops him with a soft hand, and Bodhi has sunk into a crouch. And Cassian is saying her name like he cares.

But she can’t think. She can’t _breathe_.

Her world narrows, the edges darkening. _He left me, he left me, he left me._

She is eight all over again. Alone in the dark.

 _He left_ me, she thinks, stunned. _He left me again - only now it's for good_. She touches her cheek with a fingertip, surprised at the wetness that comes away. Is she crying? _I hate him_ , she tells herself. Her ribs shrink in her chest. _I miss him. Why, oh why?_

She slumps to her knees. There is a hand on her back, a voice in her ear. She wants to scream. She thinks she might be already.

A prick at her neck. She welcomes the darkness that envelops her.


	4. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth isn't easy to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, so late.

**Chapter 4: Starlight**

 

_Her very first memory is of tiny pinpricks of light on her bedroom walls. Her father is standing by the foot of her bed, smiling down at her as she watches the gently spinning pattern of lights, rapt with wonder. He has crafted her a mobile that sprays constellations across the ceiling. Her mother is laughing in the background because_ of course _he made the star patterns accurate. She hears him murmur that he had to; that their daughter loves the stars too much._

_But that’s all the homemade mobile is._

_An imitation of happiness._

 

Jyn awakes to a rumble beneath her. She keeps her breathing even and pretends to be asleep while she slowly assesses her surroundings. It’s an old habit. 

She is on an older repulsorcraft, she deduces from the stuttering of the engine. Probably one of Saw’s. She remembers Bodhi. He must have used it to get to the Holy City to meet them. 

She is forgetting something…

She feels nothing but a cold hard metal grate at her back. But there is something soft behind her head - a jacket? She flexes her fingers, and then her toes. She’s not injured, but there’s a heaviness to her limbs that tells her she’s been recently drugged. 

_Something, something, something…_

A wave of grief fills her lungs. She holds her breath to keep from crying out as she remembers. 

Her father is dead. By firing squad. Blaster bolts to the head, the torso, the limbs. She imagines him standing in the rain on the landing pad on Eadu, hands bound behind his back and chin high as he faces a squad of Death Troopers. She imagines the flinch of his body as the red bolts fly at him. Hopefully one found his brain before his body was riddled by the others. _Dead. Dead, dead._

She hears the shift of a boot on the grate near her ear. She forces her face into stillness. A rustle of cloth, a cool hand on her forehead. Someone is kneeling next to her. Jyn focuses on the hand; long, tapered fingers that are rough with callouses. It is a soft touch, a gentle touch. 

“Little sister.”

The voice is quiet, as if the speaker is barely moving his lips. 

“I know you are awake,” Chirrut says, in a voice only she can hear, “Our journey is yet long. Rest now.”

They are only words, but she feels their pull. She descends into darkness. 

 

 

 

When she comes around the second time, the first thing she hears are voices. Low, insistent murmuring all above her. She hears Chirrut’s lilting words, Baze’s grumble, and Bodhi’s clipped stutters. Threading through them all is Cassian’s voice, a velvety bass with rolling Rs.

_He’d make for a terrible spy wth an accent that memorable,_ she thinks, almost hysterically.  

She wants to sleep. She wants to dream of better times, of green grass stretching to the horizon or of lights dancing on her ceiling. But all she can feel is a dull pounding in her head and a hollow ache in her chest. She has nothing left now, she thinks. Nothing but the fight against the empire.

Jyn sits up. Bodhi startles, but the other men just look at her, as if they knew she’d already been awake. 

Bodhi looks like he wants to say something - something kind or comforting. For some reason, she just can’t be angry at him even though the last thing she wants is sympathy - so she is grateful when Cassian smoothly cuts off any attempt at condolences.

“We’re almost back to base,” he says matter of factly.

“Thanks,” Jyn mutters as she pushes to her feet and takes a place on the bench beside Chirrut. 

Cassian bends and collects his blue parka from the floor. Jyn blinks. It had been a jacket under her head after all. _Cassian’s_ jacket. She sighs and leans back, refusing to close her eyes or acknowledge the pulsing ache in her chest. She treats this wound as she does most others on the battlefield; she ignores it.  

“What are we going to do next, little sister?” 

It’s Baze. She glances up at him, frowning. 

“Why are you asking me?” 

He shrugs, but doesn’t look away.

“And why are you calling me that?”

She wants to be angry, but she’s just so, so _tired_. Chirrut lays his cool hand over hers, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“You wouldn’t believe us even if you tried to understand,” he tells her without scorn. At her flinch, he tightens his fingers over hers. “But know that we will follow you, wherever you go.” 

She can’t think of anything to say in response, so she shrugs. 

“It’s your death,” she says blandly.

Chirrut and Base exchange mirthless smiles. Bazes snorts, and Chirrut leans back.  

Bodhi, who is sitting on her other side, puts a hand on her shoulder, his dark eyes large and mournful. For some reason, she doesn’t shrug him off. 

They arrive at Saw’s base of operations in what seems like minutes. They trudge out, covered in dust and grime and crusted blood. No one greets them, so they disperse to various rooms. Baze and Chirrut help themselves to drinks in the common room, Cassian peels off to check on his droid, and Bodhi trails after her. 

“Bodhi,” Jyn says quietly, “You can’t tell them.”

“I know,” he replies, jittery as ever. “I know.”

“My father died to protect these plans.” Her eyes burn. “We can’t let anyone have them.”

 She feels Bodhi nod beside her and sets her teeth. 

“What are we going to do now?”

She almost misses a step. _We?_ But she supposes they’re complicit now, her father’s greatest secrets hanging between them. 

“I need to talk to Saw.”

They march through the carved out halls, seeking him out in in war rooms, common areas, and even his personal quarters. Jyn finally finds her adoptive father standing by her old bunk, a dark hole in the bowels of the temple. He is staring at the floor. 

“Saw,” she says. 

“My daughter.”

In the rasp of his deep voice she hears all of his regret, and her rage evaporates. She is eight again, peering at him through the dark. 

“My father…” she starts, hating how her voice cracks.

Saw’s eyes close as he heaves a sigh. There is something odd stuck in his throat. Sadness, perhaps? Regret, for certain. He taught the girl he’d inherited to fight monsters masquerading as men with guns and knives and fists. But he’d never truly helped her fill the black hole of her heart. He sees that now, and knows she will give anything - _do anything -_ to get revenge on the Empire. He’s created a wonderful weapon in his daughter, but he’s now loathe to use her. 

“Your father is dead, my child,” he says. “And now you must go.”

“Abandoning me again?” She tries for flippant, but fails.

Saw turns to look at her, his face grave.

“No,” he answers. “It is your turn to abandon me. I am done running.”

She frowns. She hears the thudding of boots above them. 

“I don’t understand.” 

Saw sighs and paces toward her, each step heavy and laboured. He places a metal hand on her shoulder.

“I knew your father well, my child,” he tells her, his hoarse voice a tired whisper. “He was a cautious man, a man who knew his enemies’ steps.”

Jyn’s heart constricts as his eyes drop to her mother’s kyber crystal pendant. 

“Galen loved your mother long after she died for him, and he loved you enough to die for you.” Saw pauses to place his hand on her head, as he did so long ago. “And I would not have you follow them so soon.”

“Saw-”

“You must go now, child,” Saw tells her as he lifts his hand from her shoulder. “The Imperials have guessed that you are hiding what they want, and they have come to take you.” 

Saw hears the roar of engines above. His eyes go to the ceiling as dust shakes loose onto their heads. His eyes snap to Jyn, whose mask has crumbled into a grimace of pain. 

“Jyn!” 

The sniper skids to a halt outside the room, a pistol in one hand. 

“We have to go,” Cassian says urgently.

Saw doesn’t look away from Jyn. Her chest is heaving, as if she is about to hyperventilate. 

“Yes, my daughter. I know what you are hiding. The Empire must not have it,” Saw says, his eyes not leaving hers. “You must go.”

“Come with us,” Jyn entreats. “We’ll go together.”

Saw shakes his head.

“I won’t run,” he says, almost apologetically. “But I can buy you time.”

She shakes her head, oblivious to the sounds of blaster fire and shouting in the corridors. 

“I can’t leave you too,” her voice is a broken thing. 

Saw swallows his impatience and looks past Jyn to the man who has just crashed into the doorframe. He is panting, his eyes fierce with determination. Saw sees it now; this man isn’t a just a sniper or a pilot. No, this man is much more. All the better for Jyn now, Saw decides. 

“You must finish the fight, my daughter.”

Saw takes Jyn by the shoulders and shoves her into Cassian’s chest.

“Take her!” Saw commands in a bellow.

Cassian nods once and drags Jyn away, Bodhi scrambling after them. Saw watches them go.

“Save the dream,” he calls, his voice echoing through the ancient cavern, “Save the Rebellion!”

Cassian grits his teeth and shoulders past the disorganised Partisans, who are rushing to defensive positions. Distantly, he hears Saw shout orders. He recognises the formations; Saw is giving them the cover they need to escape. 

He has to drag Jyn up the stairs to the back of the temple. They circle around to the landing pad, and Cassian shoots a trooper near the landing pad. He pulls Jyn along toward an Imperial shuttle, jerking her out of the way of blaster bolts. They are about to sprint up the ramp when a plasma cannon fires from within the shuttle - taking out several storm troopers in pursuit. Chirrut and Baze hurry them up the ramp as K2 slams his metal fist onto the ramp lift button. Cassian, Jyn, and Bodhi tumble to the passenger area in an undignified heap of limbs as blaster bolts ricochet off the walls. 

“K2!” Cassian shouts as he scrambles to his feet and rushes to the cockpit. 

“Yes, Cassian?” Annoyingly calm, as always.

“Let’s get out of here!”

He slides into the pilot’s seat and navigates the controls as K2 clambers into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Lambda-class shuttle,” K2 comments deadpan, as the shuttle lifts, the wings extending, “Not hard to fly.” 

Cassian doesn’t let himself look back until they have cleared atmo and punched into hyperspace. 

“Clear a channel to Alliance command,” he instructs K2. “I’ll be back.”

He strides down the cockpit ramp and into the passenger area. Bodhi is sitting in one of the passenger chairs, fingers drumming over his knees. Baze is rummaging though the equipment lockers, pulling out more weapons. Chirrut is leaning against his staff, sightless eyes unblinking. And Jyn…

Jyn is standing at the centre of the passenger hold, spine straight and fists clenched at her side. Her back is to him, her head slightly bowed. She seems brittle, as if she could snap into a million pieces. He wants answers from her, but isn’t sure how to get them. If he tries to soothe her, she is likely to try to kill him. If he threatens her, he’s not sure he’ll escape unscathed as he’s somehow sure Baze and Chirrut are on her side. But he still needs answers. Now.

In the end, he goes for the blunt approach.

“What are you hiding?”

Bodhi jumps a little in his seat, and both Baze and Chirrut still. As for Jyn, she stiffens even further and turns slowly to face him. Her eyes are murder.

“What?”

“What did Saw Gerrera mean? Why does the Empire want you?”

Her jaw sets, and she takes a step toward him. Cassian’s fingers twitch above his holstered blaster pistol. 

“What do you care?” She hisses, “You just left your leader there to die.”

Cassian’s brows draw inward as he frowns. There’s no point in this cover, not anymore.

“I don’t work for Saw,” he tells her flatly. “I’m with the Alliance.”

She launches herself at him then. He’s not idiot enough not to be ready. The hold erupts in shouting as he fends off her punches, knocking her fists away without fighting back. Her attacks are vicious but unplanned, easy to predict. He can’t blame her for her sloppy technique, not when her entire world has been upended. 

“You _liar_ ,” she spits when she finally steps back, rage dripping from her in sweat. 

“Yes,” Cassian agrees tonelessly. “But I need to know what you are hiding.”

Her hand shoots into her vest - no doubt for her hidden pistol - but to Cassian’s surprise, it’s Baze’s hand that grips her wrist, stopping her. 

“Get off,” she snaps.

Base simply shakes his head and holds on.

“Perhaps,” Chirrut pipes in, “It’s time for you to return to the cock pit, Captain.”

“I need answers now-” Frustration is writ in every syllable.  

“We need a moment to compose ourselves, Captian,” Chirrut breaks in with a sharp smile and a placid tone. “You’ll get no answers until then.”

Cassian stares at Chirrut, quickly cataloguing every word he has said to the man, and realising he’s never once mentioned his rank. He weighs his options. The other men might be brought around to see reason, but only if he gives them space to do so on their own. 

“Trust an old man’s wisdom,” Chirrut coaxes. “You’ll have your answers, but we need time.”

Cassian’s lips tighten as he regards the older man. Chirrut is indeed far older than most people Cassian knows - but frankly, only because most people he knows don’t live very long. Even so…

“Fine, you have half an hour,” Cassian snaps, spinning on his heel.

Jyn watches him go with a furious glare. When she hears him sink into the pilot’s seat, she gradually relaxes and straightens from her aggressive stance. She steps backward, bumping into Bake’s chest.

“Get out of my way,” she bites out.

Another long-suffering sigh.

“We are not your enemy, little sister.”

“Then what are you?” She asks snidely.

All of a sudden, Chirrut is at her side with his fingers at her elbow. 

“We are your friends, all of us.”

“All of you?” Jyn can’t help the bitter laugh that bubbles up in her throat. “A defector, an Alliance thug, and two temple guardians?”

His answering smile is rueful.

“Quite the family, aren’t we?”

The words are almost a physical blow, and Jyn nearly staggers under their weight. She clutches at her mother’s pendant. She’s lost two fathers in one day. She has no family left. She’s alone. Alone. _Just how much more is there to lose?_

“There is always more,” Chirrut says, in his frighteningly intuitive way. “But we can, and we will be strong together.”

“How do you know?” Jyn asks, feeling cornered by her grief. “ _How do you know?_ ”

The guardian takes her hands in his, and a sense of calm washes through her veins. Again, she is struck by a sense of familiarity, of longing. The pounding in her ears, the ever constant fury recedes just for a moment as she studies his face. She _knows_ his face, every crease and inflection. 

“We will always be waiting for you, Jyn Erso,” says Baze from behind her.

“But who are you, really?” She asks, suddenly desperate to know.

“We are your anchors,” Chirrut says, milky eyes intent on her for a blind man, “Bodhi is your tether, and K2 is your shield.”

“And the Alliance spy?” Jyn interrupts, scoffing.

Chirrut doesn’t hesitate, his answer sure and sorrowful at once.

“Cassian is your sword.”

Jyn stares. She pulls away and flops into an empty seat.

“For the record,” she tells them, pretending to pick at her nails, “I don’t believe you.”

“But?” He asks patiently.

“If you’re all that to me,” she waves her hand in the air, “Then what am I to you?”

There is such a long pause that Jyn looks up. For the first time, she sees the blind man blink, and something akin to grief washes over his face like a wave. It is gone in an instant. 

“You, Jyn Erso, are our light.”

He says it so seriously that for a moment, Jyn can only gape at him. Her eyes flick from Chirrut to Baze to Bodhi and back again. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“All is as the Force wills it.”

“Well, the Force can suck it,” Jyn says tightly, as she leans back and closes her burning eyes. “Look how wonderfully everything’s turned out so far.”

“It will never be easy,” Chirrut says, “But we will take this chance, and every chance after that until we win or the chances are spent.”

 

 

Cassian pulls off his headset and tosses it over the control panel. He digs his fingers into his scalp.

“I take it that General Draven is as charming as ever,” K2 comments.

“We have new orders,” Cassian says from between clenched teeth.

“I see,” K2 says, turning to study his partner’s profile. “The odds that this assignment has taken a drastically unfavourable turn are not even worth calculating. I can clearly see that you find your orders disagreeable. You really should have expected as much from the General.”

This has always been an option, Cassian tells himself as he goes over the report he just finished giving Draven. He wonders if there was anything he left out or could have said differently. He knows they were always going to end up here. Draven’s right, of course. The risk is too great; the stakes too high. His heart sinks as Draven’s orders echo in his mind. The two words that have sealed their fates.

_Kill her._

 


	5. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going to keep doing this until you're gods-damned happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a bit fluffy for me. I'm also intrigued by the memory thing, so I kinda used it to push things along. But the next chapter might get a bit dark so I think it balances out. ;)
> 
> Also, some allusions to attempted rape but nothing graphic.

**Chapter 5: Reflection**

 

 

_She is eighteen when she realises that being a young, smooth-faced, somewhat attractive woman can be a curse as well as a weapon. She is sitting in the dead end of an alley, with her back to the wall and the heels of her boots in a cooling puddle of blood. Two humanoid smugglers who wanted to take more than she wanted to give lie dead in front of her._

_But she hasn’t come away completely unscathed. A bruise is purpling on her temple, and her palms and knees are shredded from when they tried to force her down. She glances down at the pool of blood that is slowly spreading outward and winces at her warped reflection._

 

 

Cassian is leaning back in the pilot’s seat with his eyes closed and his facial features schooled into neutrality when he hears boots on the ramp to the cockpit. He knows by the heavy thumping that it is Baze who stops behind his chair (Chirrut glides, Bodhi shuffles, K2 clanks, and Jyn would never come see him).

“We need to talk,” Baze grunts.

“I didn’t peg you for the pep talk type,” Cassian says wryly.

His answer begins with a huff and a creatively phrased curse.

“I’m not,” Baze says shortly. “But I know how to say what needs to be said when it needs to be said.” 

Cassian swings around in his chair to face the armoured guardian. His perpetual frown deepens.

“And what is that?”

“You need to think long and hard about what you are going to do next.”

The long, unamused look Cassian gives him actually causes Baze to chuckle dryly.

“Fine,” Baze says, “What I mean to say is…” He pauses, hesitates, and then gives in with a shrug. “You need to disobey Draven.”

At this, Cassian’s brows shoot up into his hairline. He is standing before he realises it, hand on his blaster.

“What do you know about-”

“A lot,” Bazes says, grumpy and completely unfazed by the imminent threat. “Too much. What you don’t get _Captain Andor_ is that this is the closest we’ve come to getting this right. Finally, _finally_.”

“You need to start making some sense,” Cassian says, his low voice a threat. 

Baze Malbus sighs, and it’s the longest sigh Cassian has ever heard.

“That blind idiot should’ve come to talk to you instead,” he mutters under his breath. “I am _not_ good at this.”

“ _Baze…”_

“Fine, _fine_ ,” the older man says with a distracted wave of his hand. “This isn’t the first time” he says, launching into a longer, more swear-ridden tirade than Cassian ever expected to hear from the stoic guardian, “Kriff, it’s not even the eighteenth karking time we’ve done this. But it’s the _only_ time we’ve made it this far and the skrogging Death Star hasn’t been built yet. But I’ll be farkled if I let you kriffing _kill_ her. We’ll just have to do this again, and again, and again, until you’re all gods-damned happy.”

Cassian blinks. And then stares, for once at a complete loss. 

“ _What?_ ”

“Got your attention now?" Baze actually has the audacity to crack a sharp-toothed grin. “We’ve been here before, boy, and we’ve already seen how cutthroat the Alliance thinks it needs to be. So, you should know this: General Draven is _wrong_.”

Cassian carefully slides the implications of _past lives_ (for kriff’s sake) away from the forefront of his thought process, and focuses on what he can understand instead.

“How do you know about the Alliance?”

“Not so good at listening this time around, are you?” Baze says with another impatient sigh. “Poor skills for a spy, don’t you think?”

Cassian presses his lips into a line. 

“So you know more than you should,” he says finally, “But I don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing which orders to obey. It might not be _nice_ , but there’s more at stake than any of our lives.”

"Listen," Baze tells him, “I get that you don't know me well yet, but I know you. At least, I did.” He stops. Almost chuckles and then says, “And I know you'll want to do a great many things to Jyn Erso but killing her is not one of them.” He pauses again. “Well, not most of the time, anyway.”

Cassian shakes his head in disbelief, turning around again in his seat.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, tapping a few buttons on the control panel. “I’ve heard the Guardians of the Whills were mystics but this is-”

“Oh kriff it.”

A heavy hand lands on Cassian’s shoulder.  And then another hand presses into his neck, a shard of cold biting into his skin. He wants to shake it off, but then the sliver starts to _burn_. He can’t move.

It’s not a memory that assaults his senses, it’s a feeling. It’s rage, then affection, then joy - all laced with an undercurrent of sorrow that cuts with jagged edges. All of a sudden he knows, _knows in every fibre of his tiny, tiny existence_ that Baze is showing him something from another lifetime. He doesn’t question how, he only has the ability to _feel._ At first he thinks these are supposed to be Baze’s emotions. But there is a thread of familiarity in the rush that fills him - and then he realises it; they aren’t Baze’s emotions at all, they’re his own. His, but not _his_ , and yet none the less real. 

And they all centre on Jyn. 

His eyes are open, and all he sees are stars. 

Baze’s hands lift from his skin, and Cassian falls forward with a heaving breath. He feels empty all of a sudden, a shell of himself. 

“What was that?” He wheezes.

“A shard of kyber,” Baze says. “We’d protected it so long that we almost forgot what it could do. I’ve carried this piece for many…” He trails off. “For a long time now.”

 He claps a hand onto Cassian’s shoulder, rests it there for a moment.

“Well,” Baze mutters, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

Cassian hardly registers the thump of Baze’s boots as he leaves. He is, instead, cataloguing every moment he’s had with Jyn. 

_On Wobani. She’s raging at him, throwing punches until he forces her to the ground._

_In NiJedha. She doesn’t want to risk civilian lives._

_In the Holy Quarter. She is dashing through blaster fire to save a child._

_In the basement of a crumbing building. She is weeping for her father._

_At the Partisan Base. She is begging the man who abandoned her to flee with her._

He's not happy with the prospect of ending her, he knows that. She reckless and angry, but it’s clear that she’s not as ruthless and cold as she pretends to be. She’s fire and light and, he admits to himself, beauty too. 

But he hasn't really got a reason for the well of emotion that is bubbling up his chest. He wants to pull her close. He wants to make a path for her. _He wants, he wants, he wants._

Cassian slides a hand over his face. 

 

 

Baze marches back into the passenger hold, heading straight to Chirrut. He places a hand on the blind guardian’s forearm and murmurs at his ear. Jyn frowns, eyes darting to the lean shadow behind him. 

Cassian is standing at entrance to the cockpit, his eyes trained on her. His face is stormy, brows drawn in and mouth a thin line. His eyes are dark, so very dark. Too dark. She knows that expression - he is spoiling for a fight. Why he should take it out on her, she doesn’t know, but-

“Oh kriff,” Jyn says, jumping to her feet. 

He has crossed the hold in less than two running strides, and she barely has time to throw up her arms before he throws his first punch. She ducks and snaps a jab into his ribs, which he absorbs with a low grunt of pain. She lashes out with a high kick that he deflects with a forearm, and she has to jump back to avoid his answering roundhouse kick. 

Bodhi is shouting as he circles the edge of their fight, while the guardians look on silently, grimly.

“What. The. Hell.” She grits out as she lunges in with her shoulder.

He ignores her question as he makes a tackling grab for her legs, and they tumble to the ground in a tangle of struggling limbs. She somehow ends up on top and doesn’t hesitate to rain punches onto anything exposed. He flips her with a sharp jerk of his hips, and they scramble away from each other and to their feet in the span of a heart beat. Jyn eyes him; he seems different, even unhinged. His breaths are coming in heaving gasps, his normally blank face is painted in frustration as if he is wrestling with himself as much as he is fighting with her.

“What are you doing?” They hear Bodhi cry from the sidelines, his tenor voice frantic.

“I have orders.”

“To what?” Jyn exclaims as they circle each other warily, “Fight me?”

A metal clank sounds from the cargo hold, but neither looks away from the other. K2’s voice drifts up through the hatch.

“To kill you,” the droid clarifies, “Really, even you should have been capable of expecting this, Jyn Erso. There was always an 83.4 percent chance that Alliance headquarters would see you as a threat to be neutralised.”

“Kill me?” Jyn asks incredulously through panted breaths. “What, with your bare hands?”

“This does seem a particularly inefficient method, Cassian. And so unlike you,” K2 offers helpfully, still from below deck, “It would be faster to use a blaster.”

“Shut _up_ , droid,” Jyn shouts as she dashes forward.

She drops to the ground and spins out a leg to catch his ankles, and he jumps back - narrowly evading the swipe of the vibroblade she’s pulled from some hidden pocket. They twist and weave around each other in a macabre mockery of a dance. Until Cassian catches Jyn’s wrist in a lightning fast move. With a deft flick of his wrist, he’s wrenched her arm out and she drops the knife with a small cry of pain. She stomps on his booted foot hard enough to pull free of his grip, and then they both drop to the ground in a tussle to grab the blade. Elbows and knees connect with grunts of pain. But when they finally pull up, both breathing heavily - it’s Cassian who is holding the blade.

“What?” Jyn gasps, eyes defiant, “Are you going to kill me now?”

His answer is a short bark of incredulous laughter. And then he grabs the lapels of her vest, drags her forward and kisses her.  

The first thing Jyn feels is shock. _Wasn’t he just trying to kill me?_ It’s followed quickly by a twinge of desire that’s replaced almost immediately with outrage. She shoves him back with both hands and _stares_ , wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He just stares back. 

“I-I think I’ll go count…something,” Bodhi stutters as he slips away toward the cargo hold. 

“Are you just going to leave me with him?” Jyn spits, still not daring to look away. “He’s trying to _kill me_.”

“Ah, I don’t think so,” Chirrut says with an uncanny smile. “We will go check on the droid.”

“Seriously?” Jyn snaps, almost desperately, as she hears Chirrut and Baze’s boots on the ladder. 

She feels panic begin to crawl up her throat. She has no love for the Alliance, but she thought that they were better than this. She thought that they had some ridiculous code of honour. She thought her companions would not abandon her to such a fate. Her eyes dart around the hold, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. There isn’t anything within reach. She looks back to Cassian, dread locking her limbs. He’s tall, and he’s got such a longer reach than she does. He’s lean but strong, and though she knows she’s pretty damn good in a fight, she can also tell that he’s probably got the edge on her right now. Fear skates like ice through her veins.

His dark eyes can only be described as _hungry_.

“Just get it over with then,” she tells him with a bravado she doesn’t feel. “I’m not going to let you take anything else before you kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says softly, his tone strange. 

“What?” She laughs derisively over the fear spiking in her gut. “Just torture me for information?”

His eyes don’t leave hers as he stalks toward her. She backs up instinctively, almost tripping over her feet. Her back hits the wall. He looms over her, and she shrinks back involuntarily. It’s like she’s eighteen again, alone in a dark alley with nothing but a broken piece of corrugated steel of a weapon. But she’s got no weapon now. His hand goes to her face, and she feels the rough pads of his fingers slide down her neck. Jyn feels panic roar through her blood. He pulls the leather cord of her necklace and drags the kyber crystal out, letting it turn in the light. His eyes haven’t lost that starved look. They flick back to her face.

They’re so close that she can see the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes, can feel his breath stir her hair. _No,_ she begs silently, _Not like this. Please, not like this._ His hand tightens on the cord, and it cinches her neck forward, closer still. This is Cassian, she tells herself desperately. Surely, he wouldn’t force her. It’s Cassian and he can be a prissy douche, but he had her back in Jedha, held her hand as they fled, killed a Partisan to make sure she didn’t end up splattered on the road. He gave her his jacket for a pillow. It’s not that she doesn’t like him, she does - but… _Not like this. Anything but this._

“Please,” the word claws its way from her mouth, and it’s a broken, pleading sound that makes her want to die.

Cassian blinks slowly, and then drops the pendant as if it has burned him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as if he’s suddenly realised what his closeness might have implied about his intentions. He takes a step back and holds up his palms. “It’s just that Baze told me…Baze showed me…”

As his voice trails off into silence, Jyn realises that he looks just as frustrated and confused as she feels. He runs his fingers through his hair, face twisting uncharacteristically. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, as if each word has been pulled from the depths of his body. “I don’t think I can, now.” 

He takes another step back, and then another. He sinks into a nearby passenger chair, rubbing his hand over his face. He looks up at her, dark eyes considering her. His face is free of his blank, emotionless mask. Jyn instantly likes him more, but she still can’t peel herself away from the wall. She eyes him warily.

“You know how to find a copy of the plans, don’t you?”

She nods, a quick jerk of her chin. Cassian sighs tiredly.

“Intelligence wants you dead because of that,” he tells her. “They don’t want to risk you falling back into Imperial hands.”

“I understand.”

“So you agree with the orders?” Cassian asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” Jyn snorts. “I can see where they are coming from. But I’m not going to shoot myself out of an airlock, in case you’re wondering. I’m not that noble.”

“Killing yourself isn’t noble,” Cassian says gruffly. 

“So,” she asks, stepping away from the wall. “What are you going to do?”

“We need to rendezvous with the Alliance,” he says, looking past her to the glimpse of stars in a porthole. “But you…” 

He meets her eyes. It’s almost a question.

“This weapon, it destroys _worlds,_ ” she says, not without some pain, “My father died to keep it from coming into being. If the Partisans had found out about it, they’d take the plans and try to build it themselves. It would…ensure victory. But no one should have that kind of power. No one.” She looks into Cassian’s face, measuring his reaction. “Can you promise me that the Alliance won’t try to do the same thing?” 

He knows the answer almost immediately, but he still takes a moment to think it through. The Partisans might have had the will and fire to want to build a version of the weapon, but it’s the Alliance who would be able to find the resources to do so. 

“No,” he says finally. “The Alliance would try to build it to wipe out the Empire once and for all.” 

“So you’ll have to just let me go,” she concludes, even though the thought twists deep in her gut.

“Alone?” Cassian asks with a raised brow. “You think you’re going to be be fine on your own?”

“I was doing just fine on my own before,” she bites back. 

“On Wobani,” Cassian says flatly. “The prison planet.”

“So what do you propose?” She snaps at him, fire returning to her features.

Cassian works through his options, slowly turning over each path in his mind. He could let her go and return to Yavin IV alone. But she might be dead in a week, or worse, captured by the Imperials who are now certainly searching for her now that Galen Erso is dead. Or he could take her back with him to Alliance Headquarters and hope that he can convince them not to torture the information out of her. Neither option seems particularly palatable. 

There are boots coming up the ladder, and both Cassian and Jyn turn in time to see their team gathering on the opposite side of the hatch. It’s a rag tag group; all shapes and colours and broken people. Cassian wonders when he’d decided to treat them as his team, and Jyn wonders why her heart warms at the sight of them. 

“Rogue,” Bodhi says tentatively, as if he’s afraid to be shot down, “You could go rogue.”

Well, Cassian thinks to himself, he’s already intent on disobeying orders, so that’s really the next logical step. He frowns, thinking. In the end, it’s K2 who solidifies his decision.

“Logically speaking,” K2 says without inflection, “If you were to destroy the plans, the Alliance would have no further interest in Jyn Erso. Neither would the Empire.” He pauses, then adds helpfully, “She would return to being a completely unremarkable and unimportant person. Not even a person of interest, really.”

Jyn stutters in outrage while the others cough into their fists. But Cassian has already started to plot the course. He stands, his body fluid with military grace, and the others fall silent, waiting.

“Are you with me?” He asks.

He gets a few nods from Chirrut and Bodhi, a grunt of approval from Baze, and a snide ‘of course’ from K2. Cassian turns to Jyn and finds her sharp green eyes appraising him. His lips twist upward.

“Are you with me?” He asks her, in a voice that’s almost too low to carry.

Her smirk is all the answer he needs, but she gifts him a few words as well.

“All the way.” 

 


	6. Refraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many forms of interrogation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY for this two-week wait. I tried to get in done, but life just threw me a few curve balls. Anyway, this is longer because it just didn't feel right splitting it up. 
> 
> Also, here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/linay3/playlist/4DfB47VBfC3wvVtnB8sHTU) that I've been using as background music when I write.

**Chapter 6: Refraction**

 

_When she turns ten, Jyn decides that she hates her parents. She hates her mother for sacrificing her life in a vain attempt to protect her father. She hates her father for sacrificing his freedom for hers. She hates Saw for trying to protect her from the other Partisans by abandoning her. She hates being left behind._

_But one day, she understands. She looks at her bent reflection in the kyber crystal and sees her mother. One day, she realises that she would gladly give anything to keep the people she loves safe, no matter how much they hate her for it._

 

 

They pick a small Alliance outpost on a moon near a planet in a system that most people have never even heard of. It’s a minimally manned rebel base - a freshly-promoted lieutenant is usually sent to oversee a small team of mechanics and an even smaller contingent of soldiers. It’s meant to be a refuelling station for pilots, really, so Captain Andor passing through with a small team to stock up and send a coded message to headquarters would seem completely normal. 

Their plan is simple: get in, send a message that they’re chasing the Death Star plans to his superiors, and get out before anyone can question them.

Simple, Cassian tells himself - except that as the ramp of their stolen shuttle lowers, it’s kriffing _General Davits Draven_ who is standing on the landing pad waiting to greet them. Curse their luck that Draven of all people would happen to be making a stop on this desolate rock at the same time as they are. 

The General’s lips thin even further when he makes eye contact with Cassian, as if he knows what they’re up to. And who knows - he might already know. After all, Draven is an experienced spy master. Cassian covers his panic, a veil of blankness blanketing his features instantly. He strides down the ramp confidently and stops with a sharp salute.

“General,” he says.

“Captain Andor,” Draven returns. 

His eyes flick over Cassian’s shoulder to the odd assortment of people clustered in the shadow of the shuttle’s doorway. K2 looms over them like a dark guardian, white eye sockets aglow. Draven’s gaze is laser keen when he glances back at Cassian.

“Mission report in five, Captain,” the General announces impatiently. “Conference Room 3.”

Draven is already spinning on his heel when Cassian speaks.

“And my team, sir?”

General Draven turns slightly, one eyebrow raised.

“Your _team_?” He says after a beat, “Bring them.”

Then he’s gone, marching away briskly. 

Cassian doesn’t let his shoulders sag in relief as he turns to gather his _team_. Such a gesture, even if slight, would speak volumes to any eyes watching. It’s a thin, thin stroke of luck that Draven hasn’t thrown them all in holding cells for questioning. First of all, Cassian _always_ works alone or with K2. His _team_ is a spiderweb circuit of shady contacts and informants who are relatively expendable and certainly not trustworthy; it’s definitely not two ragged Guardians, and Imperial pilot, and a Partisan-turned-criminal. Even more damning is that his latest undercover mission hadn’t been recruitment at all; he was _supposed_ to bring back information about the rumours of a super weapon, not bring back more people. 

Cassian is already turning over various stories to feed Draven when he reaches his so-called team. The naked expectation in their eyes makes him purse his lips. He gestures for them to stand, but spares a moment to lean in close.

“We’re to brief the General,” he mutters under his breath as they gather. “I’ve made you into my team. He’s not pleased. Kay, stay with the ship.”

He turns and they follow him down the ramp, boots loud on the metal grate. He speaks quietly, just loud enough for them to all hear. His face is expressionless, his mouth barely moving as they march in a clumsy formation toward the ugly grey building that serves as the base.

“You’re my team,” he says as much to himself as to them, “I’ll do the talking, but if he asks you anything, stick to the truth as much as possible. Bodhi defected and brought the message from Galen. Baze and Chirrut saved our lives in Jedha. And Jyn…” He pauses for just a moment, and then says, “Jyn has seen the plans for the Death Star. She knows they’re real. And she _might_ know where Galen hid a copy before his…before his execution.” Cassian’s fists clench and his voice becomes an urgent hiss. “Here’s the lie. Remember it. Jyn _doesn’t_ know where the plans are. She _might_ know.”

“But wouldn’t Jyn be safer if we told the Alliance she could get them the plans for certain? They would need her more then, wouldn’t they?” Bodhi asks in a soft stutter.

Cassian sighs imperceptibly. For a man plagued by such paralysing fear, Bodhi is so very naively optimistic. He feels the need to shield Bodhi, so he lets him down easy with his next words.

“ _The plans_ are important to the Alliance, not Jyn herself,” Cassian says quietly. He closes his eyes, just for the span of a heartbeat. “And if they knew she had the information,” his voice has dropped to an apologetic murmur. “They would do anything to get it out of her. _Anything_ , do you understand?”

He glances sideways at Bodhi, whose face has gone pale. Yes, he definitely understands. Cassian risks a look down at Jyn, his eyes skimming the crown of her head, tracing the lines of her hair. He knows who Draven would assign to extract the information, knows the lengths to which he’d have to go, and it makes him feel more than a little sick. He couldn’t do that to her, not to _her._

“Are you sure?” Jyn asks, so quietly that he almost doesn’t catch her question.

“About what?”

She looks up suddenly, her eyes catching his. Her face is schooled into neutrality, but he can see the stark terror dancing in her eyes.

“Not telling them the truth. About me.”

They pass under the shadow of the base’s large hangar doors. Cassian leans toward her fractionally and touches his fingers to her elbow.

“I won’t,” he says.

“Even if it’s for the good of the Rebellion?” She presses with a wry twist of her lips.

“I won’t,” he repeats, squeezing her arm before he straightens. 

Jyn almost smiles up at him, and the look she shoots him is relieved, perhaps even grateful.

And then they are sweeping into what passes for a conference room on this tiny base - nothing more than a tiny box of a room with a metal table, an outdated holo-projector, and not enough chairs. Draven isn’t sitting anyway, so they all stand awkwardly around the table until Cassian takes a step forward. 

“Sir,” he begins. “I am ready to debrief you on my undercover mission with the Partisans.”

“By all means,” Draven says pointedly as he crosses his arms. “Please start at the point when you decided to disobey the orders I gave you while you were leaving Jedha.”

Cassian clears his throat, and doesn’t so much as glance backward.

“The order to execute my asset, sir?”

He feels, rather than sees Jyn flinch behind him, senses it in the way Draven’s eyes flick over his shoulder. 

“Assassinate Jyn Erso,” Draven says unapologetically. “And yet, here she is. Alive. Along with a few others - explain yourself, Captain.”

“My objective was to confirm the existence of plans for a super weapon, and extract them, if possible. Correct, sir?”

Draven nods tersely.

“New information came to light soon after you issued the assassination order, sir,” Cassian continues. “Jyn Erso, daughter of the recently executed Imperial engineer, has information on the only surviving copy of the Death Star plans.”

“And you could not extract this information before terminating her, as you were ordered?” 

Behind him, his teammates bristle. 

“I only deduced that Jyn Erso might be able to lead us to the plans, but I highly doubt she can do so on her own.”

Draven’s eyes narrow. He is not a man easily fooled - and Cassian knows that Draven is aware that he’s twisting the truth to suit his personal agenda. It’s just a matter of convincing Draven that their goals align well enough. Cassian watches as the General’s shrewd gaze wanders from Bodhi to Chirrut to Baze, finally coming to rest on Jyn. His eyes linger, appraising her. 

“What?” Jyn finally snaps, her voice a thin thread of nervous energy. 

“Well? Can you get us the plans to the Death Star?” 

“I could find them,” she shoots back, unable to conceal her defensive tone. “Probably.”

Draven’s eyes snap back to Cassian’s. Cassian fights the urge to grit his teeth. Draven doesn’t believe her, not even a bit. 

“Perhaps we should arrange for Miss Erso to meet with one of our analysts-”

“She’s _my_ asset,” Cassian interrupts, just a touch too quickly if the quirk of Draven’s eyebrow is any indication. 

But Cassian knows what Draven means by _analyst_ , and he can’t - no, he won’t let that happen. Ever. The full scrutiny of his General bears down on him now. He is the very spy master who trained him, and Cassian knows that the most important moment has come. 

“Does she already have access to the plans?” Draven asks.

Cassian catalogues each and every one of his facial muscles as he speaks.

“No, sir.”

“But you believe she can lead us to the plans?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Cassian stares back evenly as Draven regards him for a long moment. 

“Understood, Captain,” he says finally.

Cassian remembers how to breathe. He knows Draven is suspicious of his motives, but apparently he’s still within the general’s standards of acceptable deviation. For now. 

Cassian waits and ignores the restless shifting behind him, knowing that to seem to want to run too quickly would draw them back into an unwanted discussion. 

“Have your team sit, Captain,” Draven instructs.

Cassian finally turns around. He lets a bit of his relief show on his face as he gestures for his newly formed team to take their seats in the few chairs around the table. They shuffle forward, obviously awkward. Bodhi eases into his seat, Jyn flops down defiantly, Baze grumbles as he sits, and Chirrut, ironically, perches with the most grace. They don’t look like an Alliance team. They don’t even look like they belong together. But that doesn’t matter now, Cassian thinks as he takes up his place behind Draven’s shoulder. They’re stuck with each other now. 

Draven begins to question them in turn as he paces back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back and his sharp eyes moving from speaker to speaker. Cassian is almost surprised at how well the debriefing goes - his team members follow his instructions and stay close to the truth. There are only the slightest variations in their answers, not too many but just enough to seem plausible and unplanned. It is as good a performance as he could have hoped for. 

After a half hour of grilling his almost-recruits, Draven relaxes and stops pacing. He straightens and turns to address his captain. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Draven says evenly. “You and your team will stay on base until reinforcements arrive.”

At this Cassian is truly puzzled. 

“Reinforcements, sir?” 

“I’ll send for a team immediately. They will accompany you on your mission to retrieve the plans.”

“All due respect, sir,” Cassian says, “Isn’t it imperative that we leave immediately?”

Draven’s browns lift, and Cassian feels cornered. 

“Is it?” Draven says slowly. “If indeed Jyn Erso is the only person who can lead us to the plans, then it stands to reason to dispatch a more thoroughly equipped team. Also, this is an off-the-grid base, so you should all be off the Empire’s radar. Have I missed anything, Captain Andor?”

Cassian’s mind flails, searching. He needs a reason to get Jyn out from under the Alliance’s thumb so that they can find the plans and destroy them. She won’t be free until the plans are gone for good. She won’t be safe until then. He looks past Draven to see the others in similar stages of panic, and it’s a good thing Draven’s back is to them. Bodhi is fidgeting, Baze’s frown has deepened, and even Chirrut looks a bit worried. His eyes fall on Jyn. She looks…

Cassian frowns.

Jyn looks completely unruffled. 

“So,” Cassian says, “We’re grounded?”

“Not as a punitive measure of course,” the General replies. “But yes, you and your team are not to leave the base.”

“I understand, sir.”

Cassian watches as Bodhi leans in to whisper something urgently in Jyn’s ear. She shrugs, unfazed. She doesn’t look _happy_ , but she doesn’t look particularly perturbed by the idea of being confined to this tiny Alliance outpost while the plans are somewhere out in the galaxy, a distant death warrant. She should be fighting this last order as she fought the idea of giving up the plans. She should know that there is no time to lose when it comes to getting those plans.

Anger stirs in his belly as he begins to realise _why_ she might be so calm right now when the rest of them are scrambling for ideas. His brows draw together as he attempts to dissect her placid expression. He’ll get the truth, but it will have to wait.

“See the quartermaster for supplies,” Draven is saying. “You will all be assigned rooms in the North Wing. You’re all dismissed.”

Draven stalks out, and the team files out after him. 

 

 

 

 

An hour later, they are standing in front of a row of open doors in North Wing. The rooms they’ve been allotted are more like closets with cots, but they are clean and dry. Jyn looks up and down their line. They seem a sorry bunch; shoulders sag, eyelids droop, and no one is smiling. 

“Get some rest,” Cassian tells them. “There’s no point in worrying about it now. We’ll figure out how to get off base in the morning.” 

The others shuffle into their rooms. She hears Bodhi sigh as exhaustion takes him, just before his door slides shut. Chirrut wanders into Baze’s room instead of his own, and their door whooshes shut as well. She is about to take a step into her own room when she realises that Cassian hasn’t moved. She pauses to glance up at him. He isn’t even looking into his room; he’s looking straight at her.

“What?” She snaps, brows rising. “Not going to go to your room like a good little soldier?”

“I need to speak with you,” He says, ignoring the barb.

Jyn’s eyes narrow. 

He's angry. She can tell because his perpetual frown is even more pronounced, and his accented basic is rougher than usual. She can also tell that this is _not_ a conversation that she wants to have in a corridor where anyone might wander by. She steps into her own little room and jerks her chin at him. He follows her into her room. The door slides shut behind him.

Jyn crosses the room and turns, leaning back against the far wall. She studies the Captain for a moment. He is tense, his arms strung tight, and his shoulders rigid under his jacket. His fists are clenched into tight fists. 

“Well,” Jyn says, crossing her arms over her chest, “What is it, _Captain_?”

Cassian stalks across the room, stopping only when he’s invaded her personal space. He plants a hand on either side of her head, and she refuses to flinch as he leans in, towering over her. Instead, she meets his stare with a scowl.

“Where are the plans, Jyn?”

“I can’t tell you,” she snaps, arms tightening around her chest.

“ _Where are the plans?”_

He is too close, Jyn thinks. She can feel his breath fanning over her cheeks, and the tips of his hair tickle her forehead. His eyes are blazing in anger, in desperation.

“Is this an interrogation?” She scoffs, “Because you’re going to have to do much worse to get me to talk.”

Cassian pounds a fist into the wall, and Jyn jumps just a little. Then his hands are on her face, and he’s drawing her up to him, and even though they’re not touching anywhere else, it’s too close. _Too close_.

“I can’t help you,” Cassian says, his lips only inches from hers. “I can’t protect you if you won’t even tell me where they are.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she tells him, with only the barest hint of a tremor in her voice.

“Trust goes both ways,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. “Jyn, where are the plans?”

“This is my greatest secret,” Jyn says quietly, “The only thing I’ve ever done right is to keep it safe.”

Cassian’s anger seems to evaporate. He presses his forehead to hers before leaning back slightly to speak.

“Tell me,” he coaxes. “We’ll keep it safe together.”

Jyn’s lips thin as she considers the man in front her. He seems sincere, but then Saw was sincere and he still left her. Her parents were sincere, and look where that got them. 

“What are you going to do if I tell you?” She asks haltingly.

His hands slide down her neck to her shoulders. He grips her tight, and doesn’t look away.

“I will make sure no one takes them from you before we can destroy them,” he promises.

 _My sword, indeed,_ Jyn recalls Chirrut’s words as she studies Cassian’s earnest expression. He hadn’t betrayed her to Draven when he’d had the perfect opportunity. He hadn’t even seemed tempted. 

With a sigh, she pulls away from him. Her eyes search the room until they land on a portable holo-projector stashed on a shelf. She grabs it and pries off the top casing. In one fluid movement, she pulls the necklace off and pushes the kyber crystal into the projector. In an instant, the room is flooded with lines of light. 

Cassian staggers backward as he takes it in. 

“I’ve been carrying the plans with me all my life,” Jyn says, standing at the centre of a holograph of the Death Star schematics. 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the dead of night when they are awoken by the sound of blaring sirens. Cassian jumps to his feet, and rushes out the door. The rest of his team has tumbled out of their rooms as well, and they all exchange apprehensive looks. 

“Let’s go,” Cassian says.

They run to the war room, where technicians swarm around controls and Draven is barking out orders. They hang back in the shadows, listening.

“An Imperial shuttle is entering atmo,” one technician announces, panicked.

“There are six TIE fighters escorting the shuttle!” 

A murmur ripples through the room. This base has maybe two X-Wings. Maybe two cannons. Not enough soldiers to hold off that much firepower. They’ll be annihilated. 

“The Imperial shuttle is sending a live comm link,” a technician yells.

General Draven is pacing again.

“Put them through,” he barks.

Static crackles over the speakers as they initiate a connection. The room quiets. 

“Good evening, rebels. Thank you for accepting my comm.”

The voice over the loudspeaker is impossibly pleasant. A smooth, cultured voice dripping with barely concealed contempt. 

 _I know that voice._ Jyn can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. Her heart stutters to a stop in her chest. _Krennic_ , she thinks. 

“Cassian,” she manages to croak as she grabs for his hand. 

He turns to her, alarmed. She is trembling, and he has never seen her afraid. 

“It’s him,” she whispers hoarsely. “It’s Krennic. The director who executed my father.” 

“Go,” Cassian orders her, “Get to my room. Lock the door. I’ll be there shortly.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She slips from the room, and disappears into the dark corridors. 

A slight crackle from the loudspeakers and then the voice - Krennic - continues.

“My dear rebels, I know you are harbouring the fugitive Jyn Erso, daughter of the traitor Galen Erso. All I want is for you to deliver her to my shuttle - let’s say landing pad 7, shall we? Deliver her to my shuttle by dawn, and we’ll leave your woefully ill-equipped base alone this time. Don’t deliver her and I’ll - how should I say it? I’ll blow your pathetic base to hell.” 

The comm link ends abruptly, and the war room erupts into chaotic shouting. Cassian eases out into the hall with others. 

“Bodhi,” he says, his voice authoritative, “Get to the ship. You and K2 - start prepping for departure. We’re getting out of here as soon as there’s an opening.” He turns to the guardians. “Stay close but hidden. As soon as Draven’s decided what to do, comm me and get to the ship. I think we’ve worn out our welcome here. Whatever you do, don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

They nod and disperse. Cassian walks briskly back to his temporary quarters, and tries not to break out running. 

 

 

 

Jyn is sitting on Cassian’s bed. She dangles her necklace in front of her, watching the kyber crystal turn. She admires the way it catches and bends the light. 

Everything is different now, she thinks. But it’s also still the same. 

She knows that Krennic has come for her, and she knows why. And she can’t bear to watch her new family die for her. 

Baze, a grumbling mountain who she just knows would look after her again, and again. Chirrut, who would wander into a fight with a smile to protect her. And Bodhi, dear brave Bodhi, who she wants to protect and shake all at the same time.

Then there is Cassian. 

Jyn closes her eyes just as he bursts into the room. She tucks her crystal away as he runs to her and pulls her to her feet. 

“We need to go,” he says urgently, turning to grab his blue parka. 

Jyn tugs on his fingers, and he turns to meet her eyes. 

“Cassian,” she says, relishing the syllables on her tongue. “Cassian.”

And then her hands are on his face, and this time she is the one pulling him down to her. She presses her lips to his, and then winds her arms around his neck, dragging him down to curl his body to hers. Jyn savours his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She notes the scratch of his beard on her chin as he deepens their kiss, the silky fall of his hair on her cheek. Jyn pushes him so that he is sitting on the bed, and she climbs onto his lap. He groans as she presses into him, her hands tangling in his hair as his fingers dig into her hips.

Jyn kisses him desperately. 

 _Cassian_ , she thinks. How she wishes she could know this man more. She wants so much more - but there isn’t time. She thinks she may have finally found someone to believe in completely, someone to trust. She knows that he would never willingly abandon her, feels it in every inch of him that touches her. How sad, she thinks, that she will be the one abandoning him. 

“Jyn,” he groans into her mouth as she circles him with her arms. 

“Cassian,” she breathes as she slides the needle into skin. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls away slightly. Blinks. And then drops to the mattress in a drug-induced sleep. 

Jyn leans forward and presses a kiss to his brow before sliding off of him. 

She takes a moment to look at him. She tries for a smirk. Foolish of him, she thinks, to leave the same tranq-shots he used on her on Jedha in his duffel. 

Before she leaves, she tucks her kyber crystal into his palm and curls his fingers around it. 

 

 

 

 

Krennic is waiting for her. She strides forward, chin up and spine straight. She refuses to skulk in this man’s presence. Two death troopers flank her as she climbs the shuttle’s ramp. 

“Hello little Jyn,” Krennic greets her, looking down. “My, how you’ve grown. It _has_ been so long, after all.”

“Not long enough,” Jyn replies with an acidic grin.

Krennic smiles back. And then backhands her with enough force to send her reeling to the side. Jyn spits, straightens, and then smirks at him. 

“Well,” Krennic says, gesturing to the death troopers. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

 

 

 

 

In the war room, the rebels stop arguing over what to do in time to see the Imperial shuttle and its escort lift off and leave atmo. 

 

 

 

 

Cassian wakes only moments later, after Baze sticks him with a stimshot. He jumps to his feet, swearing. He processes Baze’s sympathetic eyes, and looks past him to the downcast faces of his team. K2 is saying something, but he’s not listening. Not yet. 

And Jyn…he knows that she’s gone.

There is something wrong with his fingers. They've gone numb. In fact everything feels muted, even K2’s voice. It's all white noise, all except for the scream clawing at the inside of his skull.

He doesn't realize that he's overturned a table, or that he’s stalked out of the room, or that he's found his way to her room. 

He just stands there, staring.

_She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. They'll kill her._

But they'll do it slowly. 

The edges of her kyber cut into the tender skin of his palm. And he thinks, maybe he can still save her. He grabs his coat - which is on her bed for some reason - and strides out to the war room. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! I think. I'm aiming for next week - but let's be real, when do things ever go to plan? Sorry in advance it I'm late!

**Author's Note:**

> I need more rebel captain/fanfic junkie friends - come connect with me at [Rogues-and-rebels](https://rogues-and-rebels.tumblr.com)


End file.
